There’s something about a girl that apologizes. It’s like it makes her more human. I’ve always been one who likes girls who have their off days, instead of looking like a million bucks all the time. I guess it lets me know that they aren’t just superficial all the time, that they know that looks aren’t always important.

But when a girl apologizes, man. It turns me on. They know that they’re flawed in a way, and they have the “consciousness” to understand it.

It shows that they’ve reached the third level of understanding, as outlined below, the first level being complete ignorance, and the fourth level being complete enlightenment:

1. I don’t know that I don’t know
2. I don’t know that I know
3. I know that I don’t know
4. I know that I know

Not only does apologizing show that one is at a certain level of self-awareness, it shows that one is mature enough to admit this to oneself. And, as we know, maturity is fucking hot.

It’s the admitting to oneself that I find is much harder for people. So many people that I run into have such closed minds that they refuse to believe anything that goes against what they’ve believed for most of their lives. Sometimes, when one admits one was wrong, it invalidates a huge chunk of ones life and worldview. It’s a hard thing to do, and it takes strength, open-mindedness, and intelligence.

Of course, apologizing is nothing without change, without learning. Someone who learns greatly from their mistakes, and who isn’t afraid of making them for the sake of learning, is just amazing.

It all adds up; almost everything that I look for in a girl is encapsulated in one simple act of apologizing. It certainly makes things much simpler.

Yet more complicated at the same time.

I found out about a book called Soul Mountain by a man named Gao Xingjian. I read the summary, and found out that it had won a Nobel prize for literature in 2000. I was very interested. Apparently it’s an œuvre in which he explains many facets of his life, which I imagine has much to do with persecution in China. I would very much like to read it, but I still have Moby Dick to finish, and the Moonstone to start. I’d also like to get through The Glass Bead Game, which is also a Nobel laureate, but a book I once found too dense in vocabulary to comprehend. Many of the reviews I’ve found about the Glass Bead Game say that it’s a book which has changed peoples lives, and from what I can tell, it’s a book which not many can sort through (i.e. pseudo-intellectuals can’t use it as a phantom symbol of their superior knowledge).

Speaking of intellectual poseurs, I was in contact with one just the other day, though on friendly terms. She didn’t say anything that made me think of intellectual superficiality, but as I hadn’t spoken to her in a while, and her being one of the few that I know, I was reminded of this strange complex. I feel compelled to write about it.

I’m not quite sure what it is about this aspect of a person that makes me go mad with frustration. Perhaps it’s the fact that they don’t truly understand things which I may find beautiful. All I can think is, “You’re missing the message!”, or “Who did you get that opinion from?”.

Of course, I understand that people may see beauty in different ways, and interpret an artists message quite differently than other people. I suppose that it’s not in their opinion that I see shallowness, it’s how they come to that opinion.

Take American Beauty, for example. The pseudo-intellectuals that I know enjoy that movie because they find the symbol of the roses to be so deep. The think that the image of the plastic bag is so meaningful. They don’t realize that all of the symbols, all of the imagery is just handed to them. All they see is a character who thinks intellectually in the film and they think, “Wow. This movie is so deep”.

I guess it’s better than an ignorant person saying, “I didn’t like Magnolia, it was trying to be all weird and stuff”. At least the poseurs are trying to be smart. Of course, I even know complete idiots who say that they enjoyed American Beauty because it “made them think”.

I simply wish that a pseudo-intellectual would try to actually comprehend something, instead of using popular opinion, or believing that something is meaningful simply because there is a meaningful element. Or that they would have no opinion on a piece of art they don’t understand, instead of disliking it for the fact.

Of course, I wouldn’t appreciate the truly intellectual people I know without them.

I’m just not sure if it’s worth it anymore.

Aaron told me that he didn’t think I was spoiled today. I was a bit surprised, since even I think I’m spoiled to an extent. I realize that I take many of the privileges I have for granted, but I’m always thankful of the financial freedom that I’ve been given. We seem to be able to talk for hours on end, and it’s worth getting in trouble at work for it.

One thing that we discussed was the rules about acceptable dating habits. The rules that he follows are difficult for me to understand. One seemingly universal rule is that you can never date a friend’s sister. It’s hard for me to understand something like this, because I’ve never had siblings of any kind. I think that the problem would lie in whether a break-up would happen; where would one’s loyalty lie, since you’re so close to both people? I believe that if both parties are mature enough, they will be able to remain friends after something like that should happen. I realize that it may not always work out that way, but I believe that the decision of the risk would be up to the friend and the sister.

He also told me that he would never date any of his friends’ ex-girlfriends, and that it was an unspoken rule among his friends as well. I guess the rule seems very rigid to me, as I’m sure there should be exceptions, such as who was at fault, and why they broke up.

There just seem to be so many rules that people follow, good or bad. I know some girls who won’t date guys shorter than them. I can’t even begin to comprehend this; it just seems so amazingly shallow, or perhaps I’m just oversensitive about my lack of height. I also know Chinese girls who won’t date Chinese guys. The only explanation I can find for this is that a girl may not like the Chinese culture, so they associate Chinese guys with this. Yet how can every Chinese guy be completely set in the Chinese culture? The explanation just doesn’t seem to work.

One of my Caucasian ex’s said that she would never date a white guy, because they always seem so shallow. I was offended because I wouldn’t be dating her, had I simply inhabited pale skin. She realized that she was wrong to simply associate white guys with being shallow, based on her past experiences.

An interesting point that I once discussed with Aaron was whether Caucasian girls found Asian guys attractive the way Caucasian guys find Asian girls attractive. We came to the conclusion that, no, they do not. It lies in the fact that the mongoloid race has a generally slimmer build, something which guys find attractive in girls, but something which girls sure as hell don’t find attractive in guys.

It’s a good thing that I’ve given up for now.

I believe my grandmother is dying. I don’t have many details, as I haven’t been well informed (though I’m not sure that I want to be). I tried to visit about three months ago, but my work and circumstances prevented me from going. I’m going to Hong Kong this Christmas, which should be amazing, and hopefully I’ll be able to see my grandmother one last time. When I spoke to her on the phone, which is always as awkward as ever, she sounded very light-headed. My mother told me that she sounded more healthy than before.

I once talked to Ms. Patricia ______ (I can’t believe I forget her last name) about my grandparents. I told her that I always felt like I loved my grandparents, and that I was always worried about their well-being, even though I never really had a life with them. They briefly raised me when I was too young to remember much. I have always wondered whether I would cry if they should die. One can always say that one won’t cry, but when the situation arises, things can be quite different.

I also told her that I hoped that they would die at a time that was convenient for me. This worried her. I asked myself, “Is this really what I wish? Will I feel differently when the time comes? Have I truly become so cerebral, so engulfed in a Lermontovian nihilism, that I can say such a thing?”. I’m not even sure if this is something I should be ashamed of. I mean, these are people that I’m not close to. Is it possible to love someone simply by blood? I believe it is; I know people who only know how to love by blood. However, it is not possible for me. In fact, blood has no bearing on what I feel for a person. I wish I could even begin to understand this. I believe that my grandparents love me. I feel it in the way that they look at me, the way they treat me. I always wonder if anyone else has the same confusion. Do I love them as they love me?

I can’t tell.

Sometimes I feel comfortable with a certain type of people. They make fun of people, use the word “gay” in a derogative way, and just generally seem very ignorant. I suppose I feel comfortable in their presence because I was once like this, though this doesn’t mean that I enjoy their company. It’s just so common nowadays though, that it can’t be avoided. People who are so damn ego-centric that they can’t see past their own worlds, who believe that anything they think should be the truth, who don’t understand (and don’t try to understand) anything but what they’ve experienced. People don’t think before they speak, using the word “psycho” in an inappropriate manner, or saying “like” on an average of three times every sentence. Sometimes it pains me; of the younger girls that I know, the word “like” is more common than the word “the”. What happens when these people grow up? Of course, I already know this. Nothing. After all, I find that there are as many immature adults as there are immature children. Sometimes I just feel like saying, “Grow the fuck up! Stop acting like a child!”. Not very promising when what I’m hoping for is a world of more mature people as I grow older, something I’m sure that John, being the most precocious guy that I know, has been dealing with for the last 22 years of his life.

Can one truly choose his or her friends? Perhaps our friends really do choose us.

That would explain a lot.